


Such a Good Boy

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Child Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hunk speaks Spanish, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Speaks Spanish, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Other, Past Abuse, Protective Hunk (Voltron), Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Sexual Assault, Sexual Content, Young Lance (Voltron), sexual predator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: A Voltron rescue mission to save children from  slavery hits a little too close to home for Lance. He’s thrust back into memories he thought he’d buried and no matter where he turns there’s the constant press of unwanted hands, of whispers filled with threats and praise, and he feels so sick and scared and hecan’t be.Not if he wants to keep his history a secret, to keep his family together. But some secrets never should have been kept. And now it’s time for those secrets, those promises, to finally be uncovered so Lance doesn’t just have to bury them… he can move past them.
Relationships: Coran & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Lance & Lance's Family (Voltron), Lance & Voltron: Legendary Defender Team, Lance (Voltron) & Everyone, Lance (Voltron) & Original Character(s), Lance (Voltron)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 99
Kudos: 680





	Such a Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** later season one
> 
>  **Warning notes:** This fic deals with criminal sexual assault and later rape of a minor, varying from both a child to a teenager. There is nothing overly graphic but there is a lot implied and some imagery and situations could be triggering. This story involves child abuse through sexual exploitation. This story is ultimately a recovery fic and was written with those themes and healing in mind, but there are semi-graphic scenes written to provide a full scope of the trauma and crime that can occur (even without knowing it is such one at the time) and they could be triggering. You are your own best advocate for what you feel capable of reading, but I ask that you please keep these warnings in mind while reading and please be respectful given the content. 
> 
> **Other notes:** There is a lot of Spanish used, especially in the early sections, of this fic. Below are a few Spanish words that may/will be used regularly and will not have translations in the text. Due to the nature of the fic (and the length) I am translating other sentences at the end of that particular section, notated by asterisks, if they are a; not identifiable via a similar English word or b; not translated in secondary mention shortly thereafter. I do not generally do this but given that it is a large part of the story I want readers to be able to understand the full scope. I also recommend Google Translator; it isn’t perfect but it translates relatively close.  
> Lo siento = I’m sorry  
> Hermano = brother  
> Gracias = Thank you  
> De nada = You’re welcome  
> Lo prometo = I promise.

Every footstep sounded like a gunshot.

It did nothing for Lance’s nerves, already shot and he had yet to even find anything in the stretch of hallway he’d been assigned to check.

It was just…

 _“We’re going in nearly blind,”_ Shiro’s words echoed in his mind. _“We don’t know what we might find. But we don’t have a choice because if we don’t do this now and they move locations again…”_ He’d met each of their gazes, charcoal nearly burning and Lance had fought to hold it as something sickly familiar rolled in his stomach, “ _then those kids don’t have a chance.”_

Voltron had answered a distress beacon nearly a week ago, desperate, distraught mothers pleading for help. Their husbands had been killed, they’d sobbed. And their children… their children had been taken. 

Taken by slavers.

Sometimes the universe had too many things in common with the darker parts of Earth. 

Voltron had little to work with but Pidge’s genius hacking and Hunk’s tech had led them to this out of the way base after multiple dead-ends, of empty warehouses with cages built for children and…

And beds made for adults.

Lance shuddered.

He thought… he thought after all this time that he’d…

But Voltron was here now. They could save these kids.

Hopefully before…

Before…

Lance took another too loud step down the hall, bile tickling his throat.

Stealth, Shiro had cautioned. They’d gotten into the base without tripping any alarms and they needed to keep it that way as the slavers had been one step ahead this entire time and they could not risk them getting away.

Not again.

Not ever again.

“ _Nothing here,”_ Keith’s quiet murmur over the comms had Lance nearly jumping forward several feet, heart jumping too into his throat. “ _Proceeding to adjacent hallway.”_

 _“Copy,”_ Shiro said back just as quietly. 

Lance willed his pulse to stop roaring so loud in his ears. His hands felt sweaty beneath his gloves and he tightened his grip on his bayard, realizing only a second later he was holding it not like a gun but like a safety blanket to his chest. 

He paused, sucking in a harsh breath.

Breathe.

Focus.

This wasn’t…

It wasn’t…

It was different. Completely different. 

He resumed walking.

He encountered his first door a minute later. It didn’t look special, could easily lead to a cleaning closet. 

But doors…

_“In here, Mister Jamie? Your bedroom?”_

Doors hid things.

_“Come here, Lance. I want to show you something.”_

They hid many things.

Lance’s hand shook as he placed it on the strangely door-knob like handle and he twisted it silently, pushing the door open a sliver.

Faint light greeted him, like drawn drapes in the middle of a hot summer afternoon, leaving just enough sun to trickle through the blinds on the two figures lying together in a bed.

Lance shoved the memory away.

That’s not what this was.

This wasn’t…

He took a shaky step in, door silently giving away.

A murmured voice sounded from further in.

And then…

A sob.

A breathy, high-pitched sob.

_“I don’t… I don’t like this anymore, Mister Jamie. Please. Can we stop?”_

“I d-don’t want—”

“Shh, shh,” came the murmured voice, older. “It’s all right. Just like that. Touch it.”

Lance’s pulse roared in his ears.

His feet were frozen.

This wasn’t…

It couldn’t…

“There you go,” the voice spoke again, the barest breathless cast to it. “Perfect. There you go. Such a good boy.”

Lance choked on his next breath, words and whispers and smiles and phantom hands pressing in.

“ _You’re such a good boy.”_

_“Eres un buen chico.”*_

_“What a good boy you are, Lance.”_

Lance vomited.

Food goo and stomach bile and horror and no no no, _Dios_ no, this wasn’t happening, this wasn’t real, it was over, he was dead, Lance was safe, this wasn’t—

“What the—?”

The voice — not his, not his — jolted Lance back to present.

The present where a little boy was…

Lance lifted his bayard, took two steps forward, and rounded the curve of the wall where the light shone, illuminating the scene.

There was a bed.

An alien child, quivering and crying, kneeling next to it.

And sitting on the bed, robe open wide, completely bare beneath it and with a gun pressed to the child’s head, was the slaver.

The…

The…

“I don’t know who the fuck you are but you take one more st—”

Lance pulled his bayard trigger. 

The laser went straight through the alien’s head.

It wasn’t set to stun.

Lance should feel horror at that, at the fact he’d just _killed_ someone, but there was only a flicker of relief at the alien’s demise.

He would never hurt a child again.

The alien toppled backwards.

The child screamed, alive.

The slaver’s gun and Lances’ bayard clattered in tandem to the floor.

Lance pressed a shaking hand to his comm, vision graying on the edges and legs trembling beneath him.

He’d just…

That alien had...

“ _Ay… ayuda,”_ he choked out.**

And he followed the guns to the ground in a too silent collapse.  
  


*You’re such a good boy  
**Help

xxx

Lance had met Mister Jamie when he was just a month into being seven and two days after they had moved into their new home.

He’d been in awe of the American; his height, his red hair and short beard, and he remembered tugging on Mamá’s skirt when he had first come over, whispering, “ _Mamá, su pelo está en llamas_ ,” and then the man’s resounding loud, booming laugh that seemed to make the very house shake.*

Mister Jamie was one of the volunteers from the organization that had helped Lance’s family make the move from Cuba to America through a refugee program. He always tried to help the families settle in, get used to American culture, and he actually lived in the neighborhood over, not even a block from where Lance’s new best friend Hunk lived. 

Mister Jamie was very nice. He’d bent down on one knee and invited Lance to touch his hair, chuckling as he’d said, “ _No quemar,_ sweetheart _, te lo prometo,”_ and Lance had found his hands gently touching the strands in a color he had never seen before on a person, giggling as Mister Jamie had scooped him up and set him atop his shoulders, his head nearly brushing the ceiling of their small kitchen. **

Mister Jamie was going to take Lance and his siblings out for the day, Mamá had told him, casting looks that had been both anxious and grateful and it had prompted Lance to get down from his new high perch and hug her around the legs.

“ _Escuchas al_ Mister Jamie, Lance,” Mamá said, tongue only lighting tripping on the strange title. “ _Sé bueno y haz lo que te diga._ ”***

“ _Lo prometo,_ Mamá,” Lance had said solemnly. He would not give her any reason to worry. She was already so worried even though she tried not to show it and he knew America was very different from home but it was home now and he was so _excited_ to see it.

And Mister Jamie was going to show him. 

He left the house, one hand in Mister Jamie’s and his other in Luis’ and he’d known as they stepped out into the bright Arizona sunshine that his new life here was going to be amazing.  
  


*His hair is on fire.  
**It won’t burn you, sweetheart, I promise.  
***Listen to Mister Jamie. Be good and do what he says.

xxx

“—nce? Lance, _hermano,_ are you waking up?”

A hand patted his cheek and Lance _jolted_ upright with a gasp, away from the hand, from the touch, and his gasp turned into a shout as he rolled right off the opposite side of what his mind blearily told him was an infirmary cot and he _crashed_ into the ground with a burst of pain and a moan.

“Lance!” 

His name was a higher-pitched shout of panic and footsteps made the floor shake and Lance scrambled to sit up, to get away, even as there was no accompaniment of childish giggles, too young to understand, as the playful but so so cruel taunt of “ _I’m gonna get you!”_ and hands would wrap around him, fingers tickling his stomach, his arms, diving lower beneath his waistband to—

A hand touched his shoulder.

Lance didn’t scream — he couldn’t, sound locked in his throat, all of his air gone — but he jerked backwards, rolled sideways and…

And found himself looking into into the very, very concerned face of Hunk.

Concerned and…

And _scared._

Oh no.

No no no.

This wasn’t…

They couldn’t…

“Lance?” Hunk repeated his name, hovering a few feet away, hands outstretched but not pursuing. “Are… are you okay?”

Hunk clearly didn’t think so.

Lance needed to fix this. He’d already made a mess with earlier — he felt his cheeks heating at the reminder of the actual mess he’d left behind — and then paling instantly as he realized his outer armor had been stripped off and that was… they… but they.... they couldn’t know.

No one ever could.

So he bobbed his head, forced himself to let out self-depreciating laugh he’d perfected over the years met Hunk’s eyes.

“Remind me not to fall off the cot again, okay? That hurt!” and he rubbed his shoulder with a wince. 

Hunk let out a laugh himself, shoulders untensing..

Good.

But then Hunk sobered and Lance felt his heart lurch at the searching honey gaze that met his.

“I’m okay, Hunk,” Lance pulled his lips into a smile. 

Hunk didn’t look reassured.

“Lance, you…” he swallowed, fingers pressing together at the knuckle, one of his nervous tells since Lance had known him. “We… we found you unconscious and you wouldn’t wake up and I think you were sick and—”

“ _Lo siento,”_ Lance let his smile fall. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” He didn’t. He had never wanted to do that. “I just…” he swallowed. “I, I saw him and that kid and…”

_“There you go, Lance, stroke just like that. Perfecto.” He smiled down and Lance smiled up, matching it full wattage. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.”_

“I just…”

_“Now use your tongue — yes, sweetheart,” a chuckle, “it’s all right, lo prometo. We’re doing this because of how special you are to me, sweetheart. It’s our special time together.”_

Lance shuddered. “I just…”

No.

He had to get it together.

He was messing this all up. He was better than this. He could do this. He—

“I know,” Hunk said quietly and Lance’s pulse skipped a beat.

What?

_What?_

“It’s horrific,” Hunk continued. “What… what he did to… to that kid,” Hunk’s voice broke on the last word. His eyes sparked with tears. “To all those kids. And I’m… I’m sorry you had to but… but I’m glad you killed him.”

Lance’s heart skipped another beat.

Oh.

_Oh._

Hunk thought… they thought…

Lance had never killed anyone before. His bayard was set to stun, he made non-lethal shots. But today he hadn’t.

He’d killed someone.

He…

He probably should feel more horrified about that. 

But…

But…

But all he felt was relief. 

It was both a terrifying and freeing feeling.

And if that’s why they thought he’d vomited, why he’d passed out…

Good.

“I had to,” Lance whispered, and it wasn’t a lie, it really wasn’t. “I couldn’t… couldn’t let him…”

He could stop this monster.

He hadn’t been able to stop his own.

He shuddered again.

“Come here,” Hunk held open his arms for one of his near patented hugs.

_“Ven aquí,” Mister Jamie patted the bed where he was already lying down, completely bare, and smiled gently. “Es tu turno.”*_

Lance blanched.

Hunk’s eyes widened.

And Lance lunged forward into arms he’d never been scared of but right now he didn’t want them, didn’t want any arms or hands or body heat or touch, but if he didn’t then…

Hunk slowly pulled him into the embrace and Lance fought not to tremble, not to pull away when every receptor, every too close to the surface memory was screaming at him to run and don’t stop and hide even though there was no hiding from him.

“Do you want me to get Coran?” Hunk murmured.

Lance shook his head against Hunk’s shoulder.

No.

The last thing he needed was more people right now. 

He…

He needed to be alone.

He needed to get away, to hide, to put himself back together. He’d done it before, hundreds of times. 

He had to do it now.

“No, no, I…. actually, um…”

“What is it?” Hunk asked gently, earnestly.

Lance winced. 

He was going to hurt Hunk.

But if he didn’t do this now then…

Then…

“I actually… I want to… I want to be alone.”

It came out barely audible but as Hunk tensed Lance knew he’d heard him.

Guilt rolled his stomach. 

It grew as Hunk let out a soft little, “Oh.” He felt Hunk swallow. “I, I understand.” His arms loosened and fell away and Lance leaned back, trying not to show how relieved he was to do so even as the guilt churned harder. “Just, um… if you need me…”

“ _Gracias, hermano,”_ Lance said, meaning every word. “ _Yo sé.”_

He got to his feet, unable to even extend a hand down to Hunk and backed slowly up for the infirmary door.

He crossed the threshold, out of Hunk’s sight.

And he fled.

_*Come here. It’s your turn.)_

xxx

Lance was eight when Mister Jamie took him on a solo trip to the zoo. It was a present for his birthday, Mister Jamie said. Lance had asked about his siblings, remembering how upset Rachel had been when she’d found out Lance was going and she was not, but Mister Jamie said this was a special treat for Lance because Lance was special, poking him in the stomach and drawing a giggle. He promised to take all of them later but today was just for Lance.

Lance had never had anyone do anything just for him.

He had never minded. He loved spending time with his family and doing things together and he also knew, although Papá and Mamá, did their best not to show it that they didn’t have a lot of money to do special things and having five kids made it even harder. 

So a special trip all for him to the zoo that Mister Jamie had been telling him about since last summer?

Still…

“ _Eres muy especial para mí,_ sweetheart,” Mister Jamie had said, pressing a kiss to Lance’s cheek and making him laugh as his stubble tickled, and then covering Lance’s face in kisses as he’d shrieked with laughter before Mister Jamie had asked him for a kiss and Lance had planted one on his cheek with a loud smack.*

Lance loved how Mister Jamie called him sweetheart. He had names for all of his siblings but Lance’s was special, Mister Jamie had told him when Lance asked what it meant. That was because Lance was very special to him, he’d said, and his heart, he’d touched Lance’s through his t-shirt, trailing his hand down until he poked him in the bellybutton, was the sweetest, he’d ever seen.

They’d spent the entire day walking around the zoo exhibits, Mister Jamie holding tight to his hand as they navigated crowded walkways, letting him sit atop his shoulders so he could better see the tigers, and then on his lap as they watched the dolphin show in the crowded bleachers. 

It was amazing. 

_“¿Te has divertido, Lance?”_ Mister Jamie asked, reaching over Lance and making sure his seatbelt was secure as he did every car trip, hands brushing his thighs and checking the strap over his chest by running his hands up Lance’s stomach and torso as they got ready to leave the zoo, the sun a dark orange ball on the horizon.

“ _Yes!”_ Lance had chirped, trying to practice his English as much as he could and Mister Jamie always helped him with it. “ _I_ _has lots fun.”_

“ _Had,”_ Mister Jamie had corrected with a smile, giving his seatbelt and leg one last pat.

“ _Had,”_ Lance had mimicked, beaming up at him. _“Gracias,_ Mister Jamie.”

“ _De nada,_ sweetheart. _Pero, tengo un regalo más para ti.”_

Lance’s eyes had widened. Another gift? For him? “ _¿Para mi?”_

“ _Yes,”_ Mister Jamie had smiled. _“A regalo muy especial para a muy especial chico.. El regalo está en mi casa. Te lo daré cuando volvamos.”**_

Lance had spent the entire forty minute drive from the Phoenix Zoo nearly bouncing in his seat. The zoo had already been a special present, what else did Mister Jamie have for him?

But when they got back to Mister Jamie’s house Mister Jamie sat down in his big armchair and gestured for Lance to sit on his lap, no present in sight. But Lance also knew from his family that not all presents were items and sometimes those were the best ones and so he scrambled up, setting down with a wriggle that had Mister Jamie moaning in fake pain. It made Lance wriggle more with a giggle.

 _“¿Puedes mantener un secreto?_ ” Mister Jamie had whispered, breath and beard tickling Lance’s ear.

“ _Yes_!” he bounced up and down. Secrets were special and the fact Mister Jamie was trusting him with one? 

Mister Jamie had cleared his throat. “ _Ahora, Lance. Tienes ocho años, lo que te hace lo suficientemente viejo como para compartir esto contigo. En la cultura Americana, cuando alguien es muy especial para otra persona, mostramos cuánto los amamos a través de un toque especial. Como esto.”_

Mister Jamie’s hand moved from the armrest and brushed against the front of Lance’s jeans over the zipper, stroking up and down before he gave a tiny squeeze.

Lance gasped at the sudden pressure, jolting backwards on Mister Jamie’s lap. 

“ _Lo siento,_ sweetheart,” Mister Jamie murmured. “ _No quise asustarte. ¿Está bien?”_ His hand rubbed more gently against Lance’s zipper, trailing down to press on his thighs. ****

Lance gave a tiny nod. It didn’t hurt. 

“ _Bueno,”_ Mister Jamie said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “ _Eres un buen chico. Ahora, a veces, quieres tocarme así también. Es la forma en que nos mostramos lo especial que somos el uno al otro. ¿Entendéis?”*_

He’d never heard of something like this before, but Mister Jamie knew all about American cultures and he said Lance was special to him, special enough for this special present and… and he was so _excited_ even if he felt a little bashful because he… he wasn’t all that special, not really.

Lance gave another nod. “ _Pienso que si. ¿Realmente soy tan especial para usted, Mister Jamie?”_

“ _Yes_ ,” Mister Jamie nuzzled his hair. “ _Y a medida que envejezcas tendremos toques aún más especiales. Pero tenemos que mantenerlo en secreto. No queremos poner celosos a tus hermanos. Prométeme, sweetheart. Nuestro secreto.”_

“ _Lo prometo_ ,” Lance had said seriously while inside he was bursting with joy.

He had a secret with Mister Jamie. 

And he would never, ever, break it.

*You’re very special to me.  
**A very special gift for a very special boy. The gift is in my house. I’ll give it to you when we get back.  
***Now, Lance. You're eight, which makes you old enough to share this with you. In American culture, when someone is very special to someone else, we show how much we love them through a special touch. Like this.”

****I did not mean to startle you. Is this okay?  
*Good. You’re such a good boy. Now, sometimes, you want to touch me like that too. It is the way we show each other how special we are to one another. Do you understand?

**I think so. I’m really this special to you, Mister Jamie?

***And as you get older we'll have even more special touches. But we have to keep it a secret. We don't want to make your siblings jealous. Promise me, our secret.

xxx

  
  


Lance couldn’t go to his bedroom.

Not just because they could find him there, if (when) Hunk no doubt told Coran or Shiro or Allura and they came after him to talk, which any other time Lance would have been both embarrassed but grateful to have happen, but not this time.

But because there was a bed.

He couldn’t handle a bed right now.

He stopped there only to gather up a few quilts, to change out of his underarmour and into jeans and sneakers and his shirt and jacket that he zipped all the way up, and then went to find a hiding spot so he could put himself back together.

The bridge was normally where he liked to go, gazing at the stars and looking at the map of Earth, but not only was that far too obvious and also most likely in use, the thought of seeing Earth right now was not comforting.

Lance ended up sequestering himself in the corner of an out of the way conference room.

But…

But the chairs were too reminiscent of the ones in his home office where he’d bring Lance to after collecting him from school, making him kneel between his legs and, and…. and the gleaming table was too much like the desk where sometimes he’d make Lance lie down, hands gripping the edges as his hands held down his shoulders and—

Lance ran.

But while he could run from the room he couldn’t run from the memory.

He ultimately found his hiding place in an empty room somewhere in the bowels of the castle that he’d never traversed to. It looked like it might have once been some sort of mechanical room, a few random pipes running along the upper walls, but otherwise it was empty.

Lance kept the door open a crack— closed doors hid things, closed doors were _not_ privacy — but placed a discarded pipe between the door and frame just in case it somehow closed and locked him in and then hunkered down in a new corner, building a nest out of his quilts and wrapping one about his shoulders and clutching it tight.

Alone.

Safe.

No one…

No one was going to touch him here.

He shook.

A sob rumbled in his chest and he swallowed thickly.

No crying.

It was over.

Done.

He was safe now.

Mister Jamie…

He would never touch Lance again. 

But…

Lance buried his face in upturned knees.

But somehow, still…

He was still here.

Lance had thought… he thought he’d gotten over it. He thought he’d moved on. 

But he hadn’t.

And now…

Now…

“ _Cálmate_ ,” he whispered, ordered himself. “ _Estás… estás s-seguro.”*_

And while physically he might be safe — he knew, he did, that no one here… no one would hurt him. No one would touch him or, or— his secret wouldn’t be. Not if he kept on like this. 

But all he wanted to do…

All he really wanted to do…

Was cry.

And with no one to see him, no one to hear him…

Lance did.

_(_ *Calm down. You’re safe.

xxx

At nine and one quarter Lance discovered what the next kind of special touch was. 

Prior to it, he and Mister Jamie had had lots of special touches as he’d shown him. He’d caress Lance’s bottom through his pants, trail his fingers down his stomach, sometimes go beneath his pants and brush against him over his underwear, pinching sometimes and that hurt a bit but Mister Jamie would always apologize and ask if it was okay and of course it was. Sometimes he’d bring his hands under Lance’s shirt, tickling him with featherlight touches over his chest and poking his belly button and giving him loud raspberry kisses. He’d give him kisses too all over his face and his head and Lance always gave Mister Jamie a kiss on his cheek. 

Mister Jamie asked Lance to touch him too.

Lance went one to two days a week after school to Mister Jamie’s house because on those days Mamá didn’t get home till five from house cleaning and Pap _á_ worked every night until six each at the grocery store and he couldn’t be home alone. Sometimes Rachel or Marco came to Mister Jamie’s too when they didn’t have after school things and Hunk came too sometimes and on those days Lance and Mister Jamie didn’t secret touch each other because it was a secret and Lance didn’t break secrets and he didn’t want to make his siblings jealous. 

His siblings loved Mister Jamie too, as did his parents. Mister Jamie came to their house for dinner every Thursday and he always brought homemade apple pie that sometimes Lance even got to help him make and they played games and watched movies and even as Lance grew bigger he’d still clamber atop Mister Jamie’s lap for a seat because he know how much Mister Jamie liked it when he did that. 

And today...

Mister Jamie had told Lance to go into his bedroom because he was ready for the next special touch. A belated birthday present, he’d whispered, because he was becoming such a big boy now.

It was the one room Lance had never been in and he’d nearly been vibrating with excitement as Mister Jamie told him to open the door.

Mister Jamie had closed it behind them, hands coming to land on Lance’s shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze. “ _Are you ready for your present, sweetheart?”_

Lance had nodded.

“ _All right then. Take off your pants and your underwear. Socks too, please.”_

Lance had done so, blushing as he’d fallen down trying to pull off one sock while still standing and Mister Jamie had chuckled kindly and instructed Lance to climb up on the high bed and lie down. Mister Jamie ended up having to boost him up, his hands gently but firmly squeezing his backend, and Lance had giggled, rolling across the comforter and flopping onto one of the huge pillows.

Mister Jamie joined him, instructing Lance to lie on his side, back to Mister Jamie’s front.

His hand had come down then as it always did before, but there were no clothes now, and Lance had gasped as Mister Jamie had touched him down there.

“ _Lo siento,_ sweetheart,” Mister Jamie murmured. “ _Are my hands cold?”_

Lance had shaken his head. Mister Jamie’s hands were warm. 

“ _Oh good,”_ Mister Jamie had said, his hand going even lower, cupping all of him now, thumb stroking against the flesh. “ _How does this feel, Lance?”_

 _“Um…”_ Lance shifted trying to see if it hurt and Mister Jamie let out a soft gasp, his hand tightening. Lance felt something press against his backend. Mister Jamie’s knee? “ _Lo siento, Mister Jamie. Are you okay?”_

 _“I’m… I’m fine, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie said, almost mumbling. “ _You’re such a good boy.”_

Lance beamed at the praise even if he didn’t entirely understand it. 

“ _Just… just lie still for me now, okay? I’m going to show you the special touches.”_

 _“Kay,”_ Lance had chirped.

Mister Jamie’s hands had traveled all over his bare skin, front and back, stroking and rubbing and even pinching a couple times and Lance had whimpered as one time it had hurt and Mister Jamie apologized, kissing his cheek. 

Then Mister Jamie had rolled away and Lance felt a pang that he’d done something wrong and had turned to apologize, only to see that Mister Jamie was taking off his own clothes too.

Lance’s eyes had widened as Mister Jamie had taken off his underwear and Mister Jamie had chuckled, following his gaze. “ _It’s a lot bigger than yours, isn’t it? Go ahead… touch it.”_

Lance had tentatively reached out and poked it, surprised when it wasn’t squishy like his own but hard like the bat for the sport Hunk had been teaching him. 

Mister Jamie laughed again. “ _Go ahead, sweetheart. Touch it. Like this.”_

He’d guided Lance’s hand forward, showing him how to stroke. He’d moaned later and Lance had stopped, stricken. He’d hurt Mister Jamie. He hadn’t meant to—

“ _No no, sweetheart. I’m okay. Keep going, por favor. That’s it. Just like that. Perfecto. Such a good boy, Lance, you’re such a good boy.”_

He and Mister Jamie practiced their special touches each week. They did some weird things too — “ _You… you want me to lick it, Mister Jamie? That’s gross!”_ — but Lance did as Mister Jamie asked because it made Mister Jamie happy and Lance liked making people happy. Mister Jamie told him every time too what a good boy he was and how special and always reminded him as they got re-dressed that this was their secret and promised him that when he turned ten he’d show him the next very, very special touch.

Lance couldn’t wait till his next birthday. 

xxx

Lance wasn’t sure if he felt any better after crying.

He did know he felt incredibly thirsty and his nose was clogged up and he really needed a tissue. 

It took a minute to untangle himself from his blankets and several more to pull himself to his feet and then convince himself to head for the door.

It was safe, he reminded himself. No one out there was going to hurt him.

He still tiptoed down the corridor, noting this time where he was so he could find his way back, slinking up the staircase and then quietly making his way for one of the hallway bathrooms. 

Like all main hallway bathrooms on the castle it was designed for multiple occupants but to Lance’s relief no one else was in it; which made sense as it wasn’t by the kitchen or the lounge.

He turned the tap on the sink, cupping a hand beneath it and raising it to his mouth.

He caught sight of his reflection.

The water splashed back in the basin as his hand fell down.

That wasn’t…

That couldn’t be him.

His eyes were red-rimmed, skin blotchy, his cheeks even still a little pink. That was to be expected. But… but his eyes…

He looked _scared._

He looked _raw._

If anyone saw him now…

Lance skipped the drink, cupping both hands in the stream and splashing it on his face, gasping at the chill and as it went up his nose.

He did it again. 

He paused to take a drink, to grab toilet paper to blow his nose and also take a quick bathroom break, trying not to flinch at his own hands and wasn’t that just embarrassing?

His eyes stung and Lance hurriedly blinked.

No. 

No more crying. He was trying to clean himself up, not make it worse.

He blinked a few more times, splashed more cold water on his face, and then met his gaze in the mirror.

He still looked wrong.

Lance closed his eyes, took a breath, and reopened them while pulling up a smile.

It wavered as soon as he caught sight of it and Lance closed his eyes again.

Why was this so hard?

It had been over a year. He should be better. He had to be better. 

Mister Jamie… he wasn’t even _here_ anymore. Not on Earth. Not in space. He could never hurt him again. 

So why was…?

Why was he still so _broken?_

He needed more time. Time would make it better. Just a little longer, a little more space.

A reset.

Lance nodded.

A reset was just what he needed. A good night’s sleep would do wonders.

But he still couldn’t…

He still didn’t want to crawl into bed. 

His room down below was safe. It was comfortable. No one would find him.

He’d spend the night there.

Lance took a few more sips of water and crept out of the bathroom and back downstairs. And even though he wasn’t tired — his body was heavy but his thoughts were wide awake — he made himself curl up in his next of blankets and close his eyes.

Everything would be better in the morning. 

xxx

When he was ten Lance and Mister Jamie played a lot of naked wrestling.

Mister Jamie would pin him down — but he never hurt him, he was always careful — and sometimes Lance would sit atop Mister Jamie, and it became a game to see who could wind up on top as they rolled about the living room, the bedroom and sometimes into Mister Jamie’s home office.

Mister Jamie challenged him to hold poses too and timed to see how long he could do so, rewarding him with special treats and sometimes even money that Lance could spend however he wanted.

“ _You’re so flexible, sweetheart,”_ he’d murmur as he’d bend Lance’s legs all the way out as he was half-inclined on a bunch of pillows on the bed, and sometimes the poses hurt a bit but Mister Jamie would massage him and pet him and press kisses into his hair and tell him how good he was and how amazing he was and Lance wriggled with the praise. 

He didn’t get a lot of it elsewhere.

His grades weren’t very good and he’d just gotten in trouble at school when he’d tackled another boy who had stolen Hunk’s bookbag and Mamá and Papá were upset with him. He’d been grounded for two weeks; no television, no visiting Hunk or having Hunk over, and no playing outside.

But he was still allowed to visit Mister Jamie and Mister Jamie would take him out for ice cream and to the movies with always a whisper and a wink and “ _Our secret, sweetheart,”_ and Lance smiled back and held a finger up to his lips. 

Yesterday Mister Jamie had picked him up from school and he’d taken Lance to a spot in the desert where they could some of the fighter planes from the Galaxy Garrison were doing practice runs.

Lance wanted to be a pilot so bad and Mister Jamie told him he believed Lance could absolutely do it. Lance loved telling Mister Jamie about his dreams; he never laughed at him or told him he couldn’t be a pilot. 

So when Mister Jamie would tell him all the time how good he was, how special, Lance soaked it up. He’d do anything to make Mister Jamie smile and laugh, even if sometimes they hurt or felt funny. Like when Mister Jamie had had Lance open his mouth really big and instead of licking him he had Lance put his whole mouth around him. “ _Don’t bite me, sweetheart,”_ he’d laughed, stroking Lance’s hair. “ _Easy now, nice and slow. It’ll take practice but I know you can do it. You’re such a good boy.”_

When Lance was eleven Mister Jamie had told him it was time to start preparing him for the truly special touch. _“This final one… it will be what joins us together, sweetheart,”_ he’d murmured, “ _so I can show you how special you are to me.”_

He’d shown Lance a squirt tube like the ones frosting came out of when Lance helped Mister Jamie decorate cookies, and told him it was called lubricant. “ _What we’re going to do now… it might hurt for a little bit but it’s a good hurt, okay sweetheart? Like when you play for a lot and it makes your muscles hurt.”_

 _“Okay,”_ Lance had smiled. He trusted Mister Jamie and he knew he would never hurt him.

He’d been instructed to lie chest down on the bed, bundling pillows into his arms and Mister Jamie had crawled up behind him, stroking a finger down his back and then parting his cheeks like he’d done before.

But this time his finger was cold and Lance had gasped as the finger poked at him and he’d felt himself flush because Mister Jamie had never really touched him there before and this was different and— 

“ _It’s okay sweetheart, relax,”_ Mister Jamie said. “ _This is a special touch. It’s okay.”_

Lance stilled and tried to remain as such as he felt Mister Jamie poking again before something _pushed_ into him and he let out a small cry as it _hurt_ but Mister Jamie was patting his rear and murmuring gently and telling him what a good boy he was being and it was just his finger, and he’d wiggled it a bit and that had felt funny and hurt but Mister Jamie said it was like tickling him from the inside and Lance liked tickles so...

 _“We’ll have to practice quite a bit,”_ Mister Jamie had said, moving his finger back and forth and it was starting to hurt less. “ _But we’ll get there. You’ll help me, won’t you, sweetheart?”_

Lance nodded against the pillows.

“ _Bueno. You’re such a good boy, Lance. Such a good boy.”_

xxx

Lance jolted awake with a strangled gasp that turned into a moan as his head struck a hard wall.

He welcomed the pain though, focusing on that, digging his fingers into his hair as though if he pushed hard enough the memory would be pushed out too. 

He felt sick.

He also felt…

His cheeks flushed and paled at his body’s reaction to the memory, of when he’d once thought that what they were doing was okay, and he hunched over, hiding.

He didn’t want this.

He’d never wanted this.

He’d thought…

Mister Jamie had said…

Lance had _trusted_ him and he’d…

He’d…

Lance barely turned to the side in time before he was vomiting, all water and stomach bile and it burned his throat and made his eyes water but the pain was making the other sensations go away and so it was okay. 

When no more wanted to come up Lance hauled himself sideways away from the mess, curling up against the wall and pulling his blankets close.

He’d just learned one thing: sleeping had not helped.

It might have made it worse.

Lance huddled inside his cocoon, fumbling his phone out of his jacket pocket to check the time.

The lockscreen informed him he had twenty-eight unread texts and four missed phone calls with three voicemails, the current time — 0932 hours — hovering at the top.

Most of them were from Hunk, a few from Pidge, and, he felt his cheeks darken, one of the voicemails was from Shiro.

He clicked that one first. 

_“Hey buddy, it’s Shioro. I’m just checking in. I know yesterday was a pretty hard day. If you need some more time to yourself I understand, but please let me know you received this. And”,_ Shiro audibly swallowed, “ _I’m here too if you want to talk.”_

Tears stung Lance’s eyes.

He was worrying Shiro. That wasn’t what he’d wanted to do. But if he knew, if any of them knew, what had really made Lance want to be alone?

His cheeks flushed.

What would they even think?

Would they be as ashamed of him as he was of himself? Because he should have known? Because he should have stopped him? Because he should have done _something?_

And what would they think if they found out he really wasn’t upset at all for killing that alien? That there was too much relief to feel horror at his actions?

That…

That he’d wished someone had done the same for him?

He supposed he really had to thank that drunk driver and that was so _wrong_ but it had been right and even now he was so _confused._

He went back to his text messages, all in a similar vein: asking if he was okay, where he was, was he coming to breakfast or training, and then as the timestamps grew more recent Pidge’s were more of demands, telling him to pick up his phone or else and while Hunk cut even deeper, saying he was really worried and would Lance please pick up.

Lance’s hand tightened around the phone. He needed to go out there. He needed to show them he was all right.

But…

But he _wasn’t._

Memories he had forced himself to bury deep, to not look back on, were shoving to the surface, were threatening to drown him and he couldn’t make them stop. Almost everything was a reminder and if he went out there, where there were hands and smiles and voices…

He couldn’t.

Not yet.

Just… 

Just a little longer. He’d do some breathing exercises, focus, and put on an act. And if he kept it up long enough then like before…

It would become real. 

Lance shuddered out a breath and closed his eyes.

Breathe.

Focus.

_Forget._

xxx

When Lance was twelve his sixth-grade homeroom class was visited by a guest speaker to talk about abuse. 

Lance would admit later, he hadn’t been paying as much attention as he should, doodling in the margins of his notebook and playing games of tic-tac-toe against himself because none of that applied to him. Neither of his parents had ever hurt him or his siblings, his home life wasn’t violent (outside of Mamá rapping his knuckle with the spoon when he tried to sneak snacks from the kitchen or the fights and headlocks and slapping he and his siblings would sometimes get into) and Gordito, their cat, lived a fat, happy life.

But then the speaker had said…

“— _is sexual abuse. If anyone outside of a doctor for medical reasons ever touches you here_ ,” she pointed at a figure on the screen, areas of the body circled in red, tapping a pointer on the outline’s crotch “ _or here,”_ a tap to the butt, “ _or here,”_ she tapped the figure’s chest, “ _that is abuse as well. Those are your private parts_ —”

Lance’s classmates were giggling, gently shoving one another and looking up at the screen and then ducking their heads down, amused and embarrassed.

Lance though was silent even though his pulse was racing.

What…

What was she saying?

That…

That Mister Jamie was…

Abusing him?

No.

That had to be wrong. She was wrong. He was special to Mister Jamie. Mister Jamie loved him. They, they touched each other there because it was special, because it was a special American custom.

She was wrong.

And later that day, when Lance went to Mister Jamie’s and tentatively told him about the presentation, unable to meet his eyes, to his surprise and relief Mister Jamie had chuckled.

“ _That lady was talking about strangers, sweetheart, and she’s absolutely right. A stranger shouldn’t ever touch you here,”_ his hand caressed Lance over his jeans as Lance had felt suddenly shy about removing them today, “ _but I’m not a stranger, now am I? What we’re doing is okay, sweetheart. It’s special.”_

Lance sighed with relief.

He’d thought so. 

“ _How about we remove these now, hm?”_ Mister Jamie gave a tug of his zipper. “ _And I think it’s time we try something new. You’re ready for it, sweetheart. I can feel it.”_

The new thing ended up being a strange plastic tube that Mister Jamie used instead of his fingers to put inside him and Lance had groaned as it hurt, pushing deeper in, but Mister Jamie had said that was normal and this was the next stage.

“ _You’re still so small, sweetheart, that I don’t fit yet. We’ll get there though and this will help.”_

 _“Lo siento,”_ Lance had whispered, not really understanding but feeling like he’d disappointed Mister Jamie.

“ _Oh no, Lance, don’t apologize. You’re such a good boy, sweetheart. We don’t want to rush this anyways.”_

And then the cold tube thing had _buzzed_ and Lance had let out a short little cry as it _hurt_ but it felt sort of good too.

“ _It’s tickling you inside,”_ Mister Jamie said, moving it slowly back in and out while his other hand caressed Lance from the front. _“It’s okay. Relax, sweetheart. Enjoy it.”_

And Lance had felt a weird sort of heat pooling in his belly and just like the tube it felt good and hurt too and he whimpered and Mister Jamie’s movements became faster, harder, and now it hurt even more but Mister Jamie was whispering for him to keep being good, to keep doing just that, and he sounded so _happy_ so Lance tried to do so, to focus on the weird sense of pleasure coursing through him and the happy grunts Mister Jamie was making.

And then…

His cheeks heated as he felt something come out of him, wetting himself, Mister Jamie, and the bed beneath them.

He’d just…

He’d peed on Mister Jamie.

“ _No, no, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie said gently as Lance stuttered out apologies. “ _It’s not pee, I promise. It’s what should happen. This is one of the special things that happens when we have the special touch. It means…”_ His hand squeezed him and Lance felt more leak out. “ _It means you’re becoming a young man, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”_

Lance had flushed with pleasure.

“ _See mine?”_ Mister Jamie had helped Lance sit up and Lance’s eyes had widened as Mister Jamie’s looked like his and had white stuff all over it too. “ _They’re the same. And now,”_ he guided Lance’s head down between his legs, “ _let’s get us cleaned up. Lick, sweetheart.”_

And even though the not-pee tasted sort of funny, Lance did.

xxx

Forgetting was not going well.

Neither was focusing or breathing or really anything shy of panicking because the harder he tried the worse the memories got.

He needed to get out of here.

He needed to move, to stop sitting.

He needed to do something.

And…

He swallowed and shut off his phone, which in the course of not even an hour had garnered twelve more text messages and two voicemails. 

He’d made himself respond to one of Hunk’s before he did so, a simple message of “ _I’m okay. Just need a little more me time :)”_ even though that was a giant lie and Lance didn’t want to send it but he also didn’t want to keep worrying them like this.

They shouldn’t have to suffer because of how stupid he was.

He’d forced himself to get up and exit the room — starting to smell now from his vomit — and go into the hallway and do a few laps up and down.

To his surprise and relief he felt his hands stop their wild trembling as he put nervous energy towards something physical. 

But pacing back and forth wasn’t enough to occupy his thoughts.

He’d clean.

Lance gave a decisive nod. Yes. He’d go upstairs, get cleaning supplies and clean up his mess. And then he could find something else that needed a little TLC and he’d clean that and practice his smile, his laugh, and by the time everything was finally clean, finally as it should be...

Maybe he would be too.

xxx

“ _And how was school today, Lance?”_ Mamá asked as they all sat around the kitchen table; Lance squeezed in between Rachel and Mister Jamie with Marco on the edge, Mamá and Papá with Veronica and Luis with Lisa, his fiancé, on the other edge, always going around to talk about their day as family time was very important no matter how busy they got. _“Anything new?”_

“ _We played dodgeball in gym class,”_ Lance said, “ _And Hunk made our beaker explode in science. And, um, my English class got a new student,”_ Lance said, keeping his eyes trained on his chili and even then feeling his lips go upwards at the thought of Elizabeth and the weird butterflies he got when she’d met his eyes that reminded him of the feeling he got sometimes from Mister Jamie’s special touches. And since Mamá had to approve of inviting anyone over even for homework...

“ _Oh?”_ Marco leaned forward. “ _A pretty girl, Lancito?”_

Lance blushed and Marco crowed.

“ _Stop that,”_ Rachel smacked Marco. _“I think it’s cute.”_

“ _He’s too young to date anyway,”_ Veronica weighed in. _“Right, Mamá?”_

 _“Sí,”_ Mamá said firmly. “ _You know rules, Lance. You are thirteen. Much too young.”_

“ _But—”_ Lance tried to protest.

 _“No,”_ Mamá said firmly. 

“ _Maria is right, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie gave his leg a pat under the table. 

“ _Thank you, Jamie,”_ Mamá smiled at him and Lance pouted because he knew that she knew if Mister Jamie said so Lance would listen without further protest and based on Mamá’s almost smirk she’d seen it. 

_“But you are indeed a young man,”_ Mister Jamie continued, his hand rubbing a gentle circle now on Lance’s thigh and stretching higher, “ _and very grown up for your age.”_

Lance resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at Marco and make a “nyah” sound and it almost took the sting out of not being allowed to invite Elizabeth over. _He_ was the responsible one and _Marco_ was in detention _again._

The chatter resumed around the table as Rachel talked about cheer practice and something in her drawing class.

Lance leaned back, content to listen, and Mister Jamie continued to stroke him in the special way that was just for them, surrounded by all of his family.

It was perfect. 

  
  


Mister Jamie told Lance to come alone to his house on Monday, which was code that they were going to do the special touching so not to bring Hunk. 

“ _Do you remember at dinner the other night I said that you are a young man and very grown up?”_ Mister Jamie asked as they lied together on the bed, Mister Jamie stroking his shoulder. _“Well, I think you’re ready now for the final special touch.”_

Lance had rolled over, eyes wide and excitement building in his belly. “ _Really?”_

 _“Really,”_ Mister Jamie had smiled. “ _Now, it might hurt to start, but it will feel good in a little bit.”_

 _“Okay, Mister Jamie,”_ Lance agreed. 

He got into the position Mister Jamie directed him to, backend slightly raised and his legs spread wide and he felt Mister Jamie getting behind him, felt something bump against him.

He trembled.

He knew what was going to happen; Mister Jamie had explained it to him, explained why they’d had to wait so long. Lance remembered saying since he was smaller maybe he could put his in Mister Jamie and Mister Jamie had swatted his bottom with a laugh and told Lance it didn’t work that way, trust him.

Lance would always trust Mister Jamie.

He knew how big Mister Jamie was; it had taken him years to be able to hold it in his mouth. And now it was going to…

To go into…

“ _Hold still, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie’s hands came to clutch at his shoulders. _“It’ll be over in just a second. Now three… two… and… one!”_

Lance choked on a scream as he felt Mister Jamie push and it was too big, it didn’t _fit,_ but Mister Jamie pushed again and he felt Mister Jamie’s stomach crash against his rear a second later and it was _inside him_ and it was _so big_ and it… it…

It _hurt._

Lance whimpered, fists trembling in the sheets as he felt Mister Jamie moving behind him and in him and it _hurt._

_“Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’ll feel good soon. Just rock with me, just like we practiced.”_

Lance did.

Mister Jamie’s movements became faster and the familiar heat began to pool in his belly and one of Mister Jamie’s hands left his shoulder and came down to grip at him, painful but it felt good too, and Lance moaned in tandem with Mister Jamie and Mister Jamie was breathlessly telling him what a good boy he was, how tight he was, how special he was, how proud he was. 

And then something _hot_ burst inside of him and Lance did scream as that had _hurt_ and he felt Mister Jamie collapse on top of his back and sent him to the mattress, breaths hot on Lance’s neck.

Something in him felt wrong, the heat gnawing at his belly but no one to stoke the fire, and he could feel the special liquid dripping out of him, could feel Mister Jamie inside him but not so hard now.

“ _You did… you did so good, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie pressed a breathless kiss to the back of his neck. “ _You’re such a good boy, Lance. Did you like it?”_

Lance wasn’t sure. But Mister Jamie seemed happy, so...

 _“Ah,”_ Mister Jamie ran a hand down his back, began to slide backwards and Lance shuddered at the sensation as it moved inside him again. “ _Lo siento, sweetheart. I didn’t give you a chance to release yourself. Come,”_ he let out a small chuckle then, both of his hands drifting to grip Lance between his legs, “ _let’s help you now and then we’ll do this again in a different position. We’re going to have so much fun, sweetheart.”_ He pressed another kiss to Lance’s head. “ _Thank you for sharing this special moment with me. And now we can have so many more.”_

xxx

“There you are.”

Keith’s voice was like a gunshot and Lance dropped the bucket of dirty water with a _clang,_ whirling around to where Keith was standing at the entrance to the guest hangar Lance had spent the entire afternoon cleaning top to bottom. 

And Keith…

Keith did not look happy.

His arms were crossed, feet spread, and even from this distance Lance could make out snapping purple eyes. 

“K-Keith,” Lance stuttered, feeling his cheeks heat at the slip but it was the least of his worries as Keith stalked forward, hands now in fists at his sides, and Lance took a step backwards.

Not yet.

He wasn’t ready yet.

It was nearing dinner hour and he’d planned to make his appearance then, had been working on exactly what to say, prepared for any questions.

He had not prepared for Keith.

He had not prepared for this. 

“Lance, this is ridiculous,” Keith swept an arm out. “Do you know fucking worried everyone is right now?”

Lance winced.

He knew. He knew and he was sorry, but he’d just needed time to—

“I get it, you killed someone,” Keith said and his voice softened a hair. “And you feel bad about it. But he was a bad guy, Lance. A really, really bad guy.”

“I, I know,” Lance whispered.

That wasn’t why he felt bad though.

“Oh,” Keith seemed brought up short, clearly expecting Lance to argue and looking uncomfortable with the lack of it. If Lance hadn’t been one step away from either puking or running he might have found it more funny. “Well, then, good. Come to the kitchen then, everyone is there and… and they’re really worried. Hunk made a full dinner, some sort of roast and these sprout things and—”

The guilt churned harder, especially at how… how sincere and awkward and rambling Keith sounded as he continued to list the dinner menu to fill the space as Lance normally did and it… it was sweet, that even Keith cared.

That he was worried.

Lance had worried them enough. 

If he revised his script a bit, worked with what Keith had just told them, then he could go to the kitchen right now and— 

“—sweetheart po—”

_“You’re such a good boy, sweetheart.”_

“What?” Lance croaked, heart in his throat.

What had Keith just…?

“Um,” Keith’s brow furrowed. “Space carrots and Balmeran sweetheart potatoes?”

Potatoes.

It was just potatoes.

“Lance?” Keith took a step forward, concern etched into his brow. 

Lance took one back.

His foot splashed in the puddle.

_His foot splashed in the puddled water in the shower, Mister Jamie leaning over him and pressing him against the tile._

His pulse roared in his ears.

No. 

This wasn’t…

“Lance?” Keith raised a hand, coming closer.

_“Lance,” came the breathless moan._

A hand lightly touched his shoulder.

_Hands landed on his shoulders, holding him down._

Lance startled backwards with a short cry, slipping in the water and landing on his rear with a dull splash and Keith came even closer.

“Don’t touch me,” he choked out, panic and fear making his voice rise as he scrambled backwards. “Don’t t-touch me.”

“ _Pl-please, Mister Jamie. I, I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t… I don’t want you to touch me.”_

Keith looked stricken.

And…

And _scared._

It snapped Lance back to the present.

Because Mister Jamie… he had never looked scared.

Only Lance had been scared.

And he was scared now. 

He stumbled to his feet.

Go.

Run.

Get away.

_Hide._

“La—?”

He darted past Keith, sprinted for the door.

But even as he hurtled down the hallway this time, Lance knew, there was no where to run.

They would find him.

And then they would know. 

xxx

Health class was one of the most boring classes Lance ever had the joy to experience. He didn’t even have Hunk with him and while he knew a lot of the other freshman in his class they weren’t really friends. They’d been doing various systems of the body for the last couple weeks and Lance was about ready to cry if another diagram was put in front of him to fill out alongside the lecture. 

His head hit the desk comically as he saw Gracie passing out sheets from the teacher and a few people around him laughed and Lance grinned, meeting their smiles. 

The sheet landed on his desk.

_The reproductive system._

All around him his classmates were groaning and some were covering up the diagram as though embarrassed and Lance shook his head. It was just body parts, same as everything else. 

The lecture started and Lance’s teacher was in her no-nonsense mode, not breaking her straight face as she listed body parts and their functions and eventually the giggling began to subside as pens scratched dutifully along papers at the lack of reaction.

“— _is where the sperm ejaculates from,”_ his teacher pointed at the male diagram on the overhead screen. _“It is known as semen and is milky white in color—”_

Lance’s pencil tore a hole through the paper.

Wait.

What?

The special fluid that came out of Mister Jamie and sometimes him had a name? 

“— _the penis is inserted into the vagina to—”_

But…

But Mister Jamie put his inside of Lance. But Lance wasn’t a girl. He couldn’t get pregnant.

So…

So…

His stomach turned uncomfortably.

“— _is known as sexual intercourse, or as you more likely know shorthand as just sex. Sexual intercourse is how reproduction works but for many it is also considered a pleasurable activity and we’ll be addressing that and other items in a couple weeks in our sexual education unit._ _So on the topic of reproduction, after the sperm enters—”_

Lance tuned out for the rest of class, stomach in knots and eyes hot and his hands shaking where he hid them in his lap.

He and Mister Jamie had…

They’d....

They’d had _sex?_

That couldn’t be right. Mama wouldn’t even let him date or _kiss_ a girl — not till he was fifteen, that was the rule — and, and Mister Jamie wasn’t even not a girl, he was so _old_ (forty-two, Lance frantically calculated, he was forty-two and Lance was _fourteen_ ) and, and…

And this had to be wrong.

It had to be.

What they’d done…

It was special. It was between them. It…

It…

An internet search later in the library, Lance going on incognito mode as Marco had shown him with a wink, gave him the answer.

He’d…

He’d had sex.

He’d been having sex since he was… since he was thirteen. Been engaging in sexual acts since he was _eight._

This wasn’t…

This couldn’t…

His eyes had poured over articles, shoulders hunched to hide the screen from anyone passing by. 

They told him there were all kinds of ways to have sex and that two males could do so together through the anus rather than the vagina.

There were things called blow jobs.

Hand jobs.

Fondling.

Deep throating.

And he’d…

 _Dios,_ he’d…

Lance got sent home sick after he was found vomiting in the bathroom.

He felt so…

So _dirty._

Mister Jamie had…

He’d been having Lance do, do _that_ and…

Lance vomited even more at home, crying and clutching the toilet bowl and Mamá had knelt next to him, brushing his hair back and for the first in his life it had made him flinch because Mister Jamie pet his hair after they’d—

What did he do?

He didn’t know.

He…

He needed to talk to Mister Jamie. To see if… if maybe he’d been taught wrong. If he thought maybe that wasn’t… wasn’t sex. Because Lance trusted Mister Jamie. He always had.

He had to trust him now.

He got his wish in a way he didn’t want as he stayed home sick the next day from school too but he couldn’t be home alone when he felt so ill and Mamá couldn’t stay with him.

So…

So Mister Jamie came to watch him. 

“ _Not feeling well, sweetheart?”_ he asked, perched on Lance’s bed and stroking his hair and Lance trembled at the touch. _“Anything I can do to help? Maybe…”_ his hand went beneath Lance’s t-shirt, caressing his stomach and dipping beneath the waistband.

It felt like fire.

It felt wrong.

Lance jerked away.

“ _Lance?”_

“ _Don’t… don’t touch me,”_ Lance choked the words out, pressing himself up against the wall. 

Mister Jamie looked confused. And… and hurt.

Lance felt guilty. He felt sick. He didn’t… he didn’t know what was going on.

“ _Mister Jamie? Can… can I ask you a question?”_

_“Of course, sweetheart.”_

_“Did we…”_ he swallowed, feeling tears pricking his eyes, “ _did we have s-sex?”_

And Lance saw the answer as surely as the internet search as Mister Jamie’s eyes widened and his lips parted before he blinked and it was gone, replaced with a soft, familiar smile. 

“ _Of course not, sweetheart. We have special touches. Those are different.”_

Lance shook his head.

No.

No, Mister Jamie was lying.

He knew what he’d read. He knew what they’d done.

“ _… I don’t want to do it anymore.”_

 _“Now, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie pushed himself more into the bed, leaning over Lance and hands pressing on his shoulders. _“You don’t mean that. You’re confused, Lance. I’ll make you feel bet—”_

 _“No!”_ the word tore out of Lance’s throat.

He’d read about that too. If someone said no to sex then they had to listen. Otherwise… 

Otherwise it was rape. 

And that was illegal. 

So too was sex with a minor, which is what he… he was. Now. Before.

Acid bile tickled the back of his throat again.

And Mister Jamie….

Mister Jamie’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened painfully on Lance’s shoulders. And then he was reaching down, pulling at Lance’s pajama bottoms and boxers and Lance struggled to pull himself away from the wall, to kick and hit at Mister Jamie’s hands, but he was too big, too heavy, and within the minute Lance was on his stomach on his own bed, bare from the waist down and Mister Jamie was on top of him.

 _“N-no,”_ Lance whimpered, trying to buck up. _“M-mister Jamie, please stop. Por f-favor. I don’t want th-this.”_

“ _Yes you do, sweetheart. You’ve always wanted this.”_

 _“No,”_ Lance shook his head, tears staining his pillow.

His pillow.

In his house.

Lance’s struggles renewed.

And he froze as Mister Jamie _slapped_ him across his rear.

“ _Listen closely, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie’s breath was hot on his ear. _“This is our special time. And if you ruin our special time…”_ His grip tightened where he was grasping Lance’s hips. “ _You will ruin your family. Do you want that? Do you want to break apart your family when they learn what you’ve done?”_

Lance trembled. 

He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known. 

But…

He let out a low sob, body going limp.

If they found out…

If Mamá found out…

Underage sex.

Sex with a _man._ And Lance wasn’t… he didn’t think he was…

They would be _heartbroken._

 _“There you go, good boy, sweetheart,”_ Mister Jamie kissed the top of his head. _“See? We’ll have fun and you’ll enjoy it and your family will remain happy and whole. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To make them happy? To make_ me _happy?”_

 _“No qu-quiero esto,”_ Lance whispered.*

“ _You will,”_ Mister Jamie promised. “ _You’ll see, sweetheart. I’ll show you how special you are.”_

And when Mamá came home and found Lance’s bed stripped bare Mister Jamie had told her there’d been an accident and they hadn’t gotten to the toilet in time but all the bedding was in the dryer now from the wash and she had kissed him on the cheek, thanking him for looking over Lance and how she didn’t know what they would do without him.

 _“We’re family, Maria,”_ Mister Jamie had said as he hugged Mamá, his gaze meeting Lance’s where he was curled up on the old faded floral sofa in the living room, a warning in his eyes. _“We’ll always be there for each other. Always.”_

*I don’t want this.

xxx

Lance ended up hiding in his bedroom.

It was far from the best place and someone would find him soon but it’s where his feet had carried him and he was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to go somewhere else. He grabbed the two remaining quilts off the bed and hid himself in the corner behind his dresser, the lights off save for the soft blue ones in each ceiling corner.

He couldn’t stop shaking.

This wasn’t…

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Everything was wrong again.

He didn’t know if it could ever be right. 

xxx

When Lance was fifteen and a half to the day he got a thick packet in the mail.

He’d…

He’d been accepted into the Galaxy Garrison’s pilot program.

Lance had broken down in tears that even Marco hadn’t teased him about as everyone hugged him and cheered.

But the tears hadn’t been just because he’d made it into his dream school.

It was because Galaxy Garrison started during the junior year of high school, seven months from now, and students had to live on campus. 

And no one, not even family members, were allowed.

And that meant…

That meant Mister Jamie…

Mister Jamie couldn’t touch him.

And Mister Jamie…

Mister Jamie touched him a lot.

Before, when Lance would visit him on his own, they’d still do activities like baking or going shopping or hiking or even just working on Lance’s homework and laughing and sharing stories and just _talking._

But ever since Lance had told him no…

Mister Jamie only ever wanted to have sex. He’d gotten rougher too, sometimes leaving fingerprint bruises on Lance’s skin over his hips or thighs or even his stomach when he’d shoved him up against the desk and the edge had slammed over and over into his stomach.

Lance rarely felt any of the good fire now — he was too tense, Mister Jamie told him — and Mister Jamie didn’t seem to care, often pushing himself over and over and over into Lance without pause and a few times he’d bled and Mister Jamie had apologized and helped clean him up but he still hadn’t stopped.

He wouldn’t listen when Lance begged him to, when he sobbed that he didn’t want this.

And Lance…

Lance couldn’t stop him and it wasn’t just because Mister Jamie was bigger and heavier than him. 

Shame and fear kept him silent too. 

He’d shamed his family, disobeyed his parents. He’d let an older _man_ use him, let himself be manipulated and touched and then… then _raped._

And he still didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t.

He never could.

His family loved Mister Jamie. They expected Lance to love him too. And so…

So Lance had put on a smile and made them believe he did even if every touch sent shudders down his spine and every murmur of “sweetheart” made him want to pull away. 

But now, with the Galaxy Garrison… maybe…

Maybe he would finally be free. 

xxx

A soft knock sounded on his bedroom door and Lance tensed in his corner.

He’d known someone would come after him but…

But so soon.

He trembled.

“Lance?” came the gentle call of his name and Lance felt tears spring to his eyes even though he thought he’d been cried out.

Hunk.

“Lance, _hermano?_ Can… can I come in?”

Hunk never asked permission to come into his room, the same as Lance never asked to go into Hunk’s. They told each other everything, shared everything.

Except, well…

Except the biggest secret of them all.

_“Nuestro secreto,” Mister Jamie had smiled._

“ _Lo prometo,” Lance, all of eight and how was he supposed to know, why had Mister Jamie done that? promised._

“Lance?” Hunk knocked again. 

_“S_ _í,”_ Lance whispered.

He couldn’t hide forever.

Although…

He didn’t know what he was going to say. At one point in his life, that first month away at the Garrison and the only contact he knew of home being Hunk and Veronica — a junior in the analyst communications division — and feeling _safe_ for the first time in years he had thought, maybe…

Maybe he should… maybe he _could_ tell Hunk. 

And maybe…

Maybe one of the broken things inside him would feel better.

But he hadn’t.

Because…

The door _whooshed_ open, illuminating Hunk from the brighter white lights in the hallway and Lance winced at the lights, ducking his head to both protect his eyes and so he didn’t have to meet Hunk’s as he no doubt spotted him tucked into the corner.

The door closed a second later and Hunk’s heavier footsteps sounded.

Lance didn’t look up from his knees, trembling.

He couldn't…

He couldn’t be touched right now. Not even from Hunk.

But Hunk didn’t try to pull him into a hug, didn’t even put a hand on his shoulder. He felt more than saw Hunk take a sit a few feet away from him and he shuddered out a breath at that. Close, but not too close. 

“This…” Hunk’s voice was thick, like he’d been crying, but it was steady as he broke the silence. “This isn’t about killing someone… is it?”

Lance paused.

And then gave a tiny shake of his head.

He heard Hunk’s harsh inhale and he flinched, ducking his head.

Because if it wasn’t the killing that had messed Lance up… then it was another part of the mission.

And there had only been one big, glaring thing on this particular mission that could cause a negative reaction.

Yet even knowing that, knowing what Hunk would find out…

Lance couldn’t lie anymore.

He couldn’t keep it a secret for forever.

“Lance,” his name was a waver and he heard Hunk swallow. “Do… do you want to talk about it?”

No, he didn’t.

But…

But he needed to.

“ _Lo siento,”_ he whispered instead, hunching further into his blanket pile.

He shouldn’t burden Hunk with this. That wasn’t fair to him. 

“Lance, _háblame_ ,” Hunk whispered. “ _Por favor. Estoy... Estoy escuchando. Estoy aquí.”_ *

Lance licked his lips.

He couldn’t.

He had to.

He didn’t even know where to begin.

“Do… do you remember…?” the words felt like glass up his throat, tears making his words high and tight. “R-remember…?”

He couldn’t say it.

“ _Estoy aquí,”_ Hunk murmured. 

He was here _now._ What if… what if…?

“Lance _,”_ Hunk’s voice was heavy with tears again. “ _Te, te quiero, hermano. Ahora y siempre. Por favor, háblame.”**_

Lance swallowed thickly. “Do you remember… Remember M-Mister Jamie?”

Hunk’s sharp breath said it all.

Lance flinched.

“ _Est-t-oy escuchando,”_ Hunk repeated from earlier. _“Estoy aquí.”_

It gave Lance the strength to continue, to finish what he’d started.

To tell a secret that should have been broken long ago.

“When… when I was a kid, he… he…” 

How was he supposed to do this? 

He had to do this.

If he didn’t say it now he never would again.

“He would… he’d t-touch me. He told me,” Lance swallowed, tears blurring his vision of his blanket clad knees. “He told me it was sp-special touches. Because I was special. And I… I thought…”

He swallowed back the sob.

Hunk didn’t interrupt although his breathing had become heavier as though he was trying to hold back from crying.

“And, and… and I thought it was okay. I thought that’s what… what people d-did. What Americans did. And when… when I got older, he… we…. I didn’t kn-know, I d-didn’t… but we… we…” Lance’s voice was barely audible to himself. “We had sex.”

He shuddered, eyes stinging.

“And when I found out that that’s… that was what we’d done, I… I told him I didn’t… I didn’t want to do it anymore. And he…” Lance’s hands tightened in the blanket. “He wouldn’t st-stop. He, he told me if I told anyone I’d hurt my family and sh-shame them and he, he was right, and—”

“No,” Hunk interrupted, both fierce and trembling at the same time. “N-no, Lance. God, no. He, he was _wrong._ He was so wrong. What he… you… that’s… that’s… that’s r-rape, Lance.”

Lance buried his face back in his knees.

He knew that. 

He knew that and still…

“Oh, Lance,” Hunk’s voice broke. “I’m, I’m so s-sorry. I never even… I didn’t… all th-that time and you… he, he _hurt_ you and I d-didn’t even notice…”

“‘s not your fault,” Lance mumbled into his knees. 

“But it’s yours?” Hunk fired back and Lance flinched again; Hunk had always been perceptive like that. But he’d never known to look and Lance had never given him the opportunity to do so. 

“Lance, no,” Hunk let out a sob. “No. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. He… he… Mister Jamie…”

He petered off.

And even though Hunk was at a loss for words, Lance felt comforted by them. 

Because Hunk…

Hunk _believed_ him. Hunk was listening. And Hunk… Hunk was still here and not looking at him with disgust, with shame.

Just…

Horror. And concern. And it was _for him._

If he’d told him earlier, would… would it have made a difference?

“You tried to tell me,” Hunk’s horrified whisper filled the silence. “D-didn’t, you? Back at the Garrison? I, I remember now… you… Lance… he…”

Lance had worked up the courage a month in, asking Hunk if they could stay up a little later (Hunk always went to bed early, even on weekends) because he wanted to talk to him about something important.

But…

But that night, just after dinner, a commander had pulled him from his dorm and he’d found himself in a small conference room with Veronica and a rare phone connection to the outside.

Mamá had been on the line. And she’d told them through her tears that…

That Mister Jamie was dead.

He’d been killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver last night. 

Veronica had held him as he’d sobbed and she’d murmured soothing, comforting sounds that she rarely showed as she smoothed his hair and told him how much Mister Jamie had loved him.

But Veronica had been mistaken, one of the first times in her life.

Lance wasn’t crying because he was sad.

He was sobbing with relief because Mister Jamie could never, ever, touch him again.

He was finally safe. 

And…

And their secret would die with Mister Jamie. To bring it up now…

It was wrong. 

It was over. 

There was no point.

Lance had just had to get through the funeral, stumble his way through the speech he’d been asked to give, and if he’d cried and trembled and hiccuped his way through how kind Mister Jamie was, how much he was going to miss him, everyone thought it was grief.

Lance could suffer one more lie to finally be safe, to keep his family safe and together too.

“He died,” Hunk whispered, pulling Lance back. “He died and so you didn’t… you didn’t say anything.”

Lance gave a small shake of his head. 

“Oh, L-Lance…”

Lance finally had the courage to peek up. Hunk was sitting there, arms wrapped about himself in a hug, tears rolling down his cheeks, and looking absolutely miserable and hurt and sick.

Lance wondered if that’s how he looked too. 

But his hands were bundled in his lap as he didn’t even want them touching him right now and his shoulders shook as he _wanted_ a hug from Hunk because Hunk’s hugs always made him feel safe but he _didn’t_ want one and he… he…

Would Hunk even want to hug him? 

Hunk shifted slightly, not even forward, just sideways, and Lance flinched at the barely there movement.

Hunk still saw it.

His eyes widened anew and horror and guilt flashed on his face. 

“Ear-earlier,” Hunk choked out. “In the infirmary. You… you didn’t… I, I made you h-hug m—”

“No,” Lance cut Hunk off that time.

There had been a difference then. 

“You, you didn’t make me,” Lance whispered. “He… he did. Make me do things.” He lowered his eyes, fighting against phantom words and orders as sugared words turned harsh and cold when Lance had resisted. “But you… you never… I just… I didn’t…”

He hadn’t wanted Hunk to know. 

But now that he did…

It wasn’t instant relief, wasn’t like all of the fear and shame had vanished. But he felt a little better, he thought.

His stomach had stopped hurting at least. 

“I’m still sorry, _hermano,”_ Hunk said quietly. “You… you shouldn’t have to do things that, that make you uncomfortable. And, and I made you feel that. And I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Lance barely whispered.

There was nothing to say to that.

But Hunk knew now.

And right now…

Right now Lance thought maybe…

Maybe he really did want a hug from Hunk.

He wanted to feel _safe._

He uncurled from his defensive sit, lowering his hands to his sides. 

“Hunk? C-can…?”

Hunk slowly, slowly opened his arms, lip trembling.

Lance just as slowly inched across the floor, his knees bumping into Hunk’s crossed legs. He carefully leaned forward, his own arms wrapping around Hunk as far as he could go, fingers tangling in the hem of Hunk’s vest, and he rested his head on Hunk’s chest, taking in a shuddering breath.

Hunk’s heart thudded beneath his head. 

He nodded.

And Hunk’s arms gently closed around him. 

“Is this okay?” Hunk’s question rumbled beneath his head.

Lance nodded again. 

Safe.

He felt safe.

Tears stung his eyes and a silent sob shook his shoulders. 

“I’ve got you, _hermano,”_ Hunk murmured, arms giving a careful squeeze. “I’m h-here.”

And Lance _sobbed._

It was different from when he’d done so, hidden away downstairs. He didn’t try to be quiet, to muffle his cries, to hold back because he couldn’t let anyone find out.

Hunk knew.

And Hunk was still here. 

*Talk to me. I’m listening. I’m here.”  
** I love you. Now and forever. Please talk to me.”

xxx

Lance didn’t know how long he cried in Hunk’s arms and then afterwards remained slumped in them, Hunk gently rubbing his back and holding him and never too tight where if Lance wanted he could pull away and he knew Hunk would let him.

He was safe here.

He hadn’t realized what it felt like to feel that so fully. What he’d been doing for the past year… it felt so fake now.

“Lance?” Hunk’s voice was a comforting rumble beneath his head. 

Lance hummed.

“I… I think…”

Lance tensed.

He had a feeling what was coming. 

“I think you need to… to talk to someone. Someone else.” Hunk swallowed. “M-maybe Shiro?”

Lance gave the barest shake of his head.

He couldn’t.

But even as he did so he knew deep down it couldn’t end here. He couldn’t burden Hunk solely with this secret, couldn’t expect him to keep it either when Hunk knew doing so wouldn’t make things better, not the way Lance someday hoped they could be. 

But…

But _Shiro?_

He flushed thinking about it. Shiro was his hero, his idol, the person he dreamed of being just like. 

And, and if Shiro knew…

He’d die of shame and mortification.

“What… what about Coran?” Hunk hedged.

Lance stilled.

He… he didn’t know Coran all that well but…but he did feel a connection to him.

He’d felt a connection to Mister Jamie though too. 

But, but Coran…

Coran wouldn’t… he’d never…

“I can stay too,” Hunk said, somehow perfectly interpreting Lance’s lack of response. “If you want me too.”

 _“Por favor,”_ Lance whispered. 

“I’ll go get him now?”

Lance gave a tiny nod. He knew if he didn’t do this now then…

Then he wasn’t sure he’d have the courage to do so later. 

Hunk gave him one last squeeze and lifted his arms away and Lance sat back, rubbing at his face as Hunk slowly, knees creaking got to his feet. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes,” he promised. “You’ll… you’ll be okay?”

Lance nodded.

He wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Okay. Be right back.”

Lance remained on the floor, only moving to grab one of the fallen blankets and drag it over his shoulders.

And he waited, trying desperately not to think about anything.

Hunk returned with Coran and three steaming mugs about ten minutes later. Lance took a mug that Coran handed him with a soft _“tea,”_ — ceramic warm and comforting beneath his fingers — and held it as both Coran and Hunk sat down, making a small triangle of bodies. 

Lance stared down into his tea, not sure what he was supposed to say or how to even start. 

“Why don’t you try the tea, lad?” Coran suggested quietly. “I daresay some fluids would be good for you.”

Lance knew that; the fact his tears had stopped and his eyes only stung with dryness made that obvious. He took a small sip; not too hot and it tasted like cinnamon and that made his eyes sting for a different reason as it reminded him so much of _home._

“Good lad,” Coran smiled and his endearment didn’t make Lance shudder as he looked up to meet Coran’s dark jeweled gaze in the dim lighting. Coran looked… he looked sad, Lance thought, but more than that he looked _kind._ “Now then…”

Lance’s hands tightened around his mug.

“I know it can be hard to talk about certain things,” Coran said quietly. “It can be be painful. It can make you feel sick or scared. But keeping those things inside… it makes all of that hurt only hurt you. And pain is a burden we can share so it is then not quite so painful.”

Lance’s eyes were stinging again, his throat tight.

“You do not have to share everything,” Coran continued. “You do not have to share anything if you don’t want to. All I’m here to say is that I am here, Lance,” and Lance gave a tiny startle at the use of his name, “for you, and I will always be here for you. And I will do whatever is in my power to make you feel safe and loved and never so scared or hurt again. The decision of what you’d like to do is completely up to you; whatever you think will make you feel most comfortable.”

Lance licked his lips.

What did he want to do?

What would make him feel better?

He… he knew the answer to that.

“I’d…” his voice was high and pitchy but Coran nodded encouragingly and Hunk smiled at him. “I’d like to… to t-talk.”

And he did.

It was like vomit coming out of his mouth as he regurgitated nearly everything, words nearly tripping over themselves in some places and halting and choked in others as he struggled to tell them what had happened, what he’d done, what Mister Jamie had done.

Hunk had clearly been in distress multiple times and Lance had stopped but Hunk had quietly told him if he wanted to to… to keep going. He was here. 

Hunk ended up holding his right hand about halfway through and Coran had gently asked Lance if he could hold his left when he had stumbled over the first time they’d had… had sex. Lance had let him and Coran’s grip had been warm and tight and his hand was so _big_ but…

But it felt safe.

Lance didn’t stop until the very end, when he’d had to go home for the funeral.

He waited then, chest heaving and hands trembling, feeling sick and relieved and scared and, and _free,_ for what Coran was going to say. 

He heard Coran swallow. And then…

“I think you are an incredibly remarkable young man,” Coran said quietly. 

Lance jerked his head up where he’d been looking at his knees.

What?

Why would…?

Coran met his gaze, eyes overbright. “You have suffered much in your young years,” Coran said. “Your kindness, your love, was taken advantage of. You were used and abused and then hurt and forcibly silenced by someone you should have been able to trust. What… what this Mister Jamie did to you… it says far more about him than it does you, Lance. He knew from the moment he first asked you to keep that promise that what he was doing was wrong. You…” Coran’s voice broke. “You were a _child._ You looked to adults for guidance and this man, this… this _praxia…_ he was no man. He was a monster.”

Coran squeezed Lance’s hand. “But you, Lance. Even after you have suffered so, have had your trust broken… you found the courage and strength to speak to Hunk, to speak to me. You put your family and your love for them above your own wellbeing, suffered so as to keep them from hurting. And so I say it again… you are an incredibly remarkable young man and I am beyond honored to know you.”

Lance’s lip trembled.

And before he could stop himself he was lunging forward at Coran, hands gripping at the man’s vest with a loud sob and he clung tighter as Coran wrapped his arms about him, holding and rocking him.

“There, there,” Coran murmured, “I’ve got you, lad. It’s all right, I’ve got you.”

He felt Coran swallow, his arms tighten.

“I’ve got you.”

xxx

Lance asked Hunk and Coran not to say anything. He… he didn’t want the others to know even though… even though they had to know _something_ was wrong but he… he didn’t… he couldn’t…

They’d agreed.

 _“That is your story to share,”_ Coran had murmured. _“And we will not break your trust.”_

They’d left then, Hunk offering to sleepover but Lance had wanted to be alone now, as it was nearly two in the morning and Lance had apparently been talking for _hours_ and he’d felt guilt pool at that but he knew that… that Coran and Hunk wouldn’t want him to think that.

So he didn’t.

And when he woke up the next morning — not a single nightmare, not a single memory haunting his dreams — he had felt something warm and peaceful in his chest and his lips had lifted in a way that none of the forced attempts had done.

Talking about it…

Having Coran and Hunk understand…

His smile fell a moment later though.

The others.

He knew they wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t demand an answer.

But…

But what if…?

He shook his head.

No.

He was fine now. 

He was going to go out there, eat breakfast, get ready for training, and nothing was going to hold him back.

Except as Lance walked down the hall in his underarmor and leg braces, arms and chest pieces bundled at his chest, he could feel that resolve wavering.

He felt exposed, like everyone was going to be looking at him.

Like they’d _know._

And he… 

He didn’t want to act anymore. He didn’t want to put on a mask he didn’t like.

He didn’t have to tell them but…

But if he wasn’t feeling happy then… then he didn’t need to make himself be happy. 

So Lance quietly entered the kitchen where everyone else was already gathered and finishing up their breakfast, head down so he didn’t see their stares as the quiet breakfast murmur fell silent.

“Lance,” Shiro’s voice was bright and cheery and all of a sudden there was a clattering of dishes and quiet conversation resumed and Lance could have cried at how Shiro seemed to know exactly what to do. He heard footsteps and looked up to see Shiro paused a few paces away, gentle smile not able to fully hide the concern furrowed in his brow. “It’s good to see you, buddy. Are you feeling up for training?”

Shiro was being so perceptive it _hurt,_ not asking him how he was feeling, not making him feel on the spot or having to summon up an answer he didn’t already know given that he’d put on his armor.

He nodded, throat too tight to try to speak.

“Glad to hear it,” Shiro grinned. “We’re doing an obstacle run today; I think you’ll like it.”

Lance tentatively met his smile. 

An obstacle course sounded fun and it wouldn’t involve really needing to talk with anyone and it… it was the perfect training to rejoin the team and find his feet again.

 _“Gracias,_ Shiro,” he murmured.

Shiro chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait until you see the course.”

Fifteen minutes later Lance understood as he stood in front of it, the entire training room filled with activities from the space equivalent of tire runs to rock walls to climbing ropes to jumps and hurdles and monkey bars and so much more in between.

“I’ve set up various start points for each of us,” Shiro said, “so we won’t intercept one another. Your goal is to get through the entire course, take a breather, and then do it again and try to beat your time. You’re competing against _yourself,”_ and his gaze flicked to Lance and it was so _normal_ that Lance didn’t even mind the slight warning, “so don’t worry about what everyone else is doing. This will test your endurance, your adaptability and, in some spots, even your creativity. Work hard, Paladins, but,” his lips quirked up, “have fun too.”

To Lance’s surprise he found that he was. 

Just like how cleaning yesterday had given him a focus so too did the course and that concentration coupled with the physical aspect as his blood pumped and his muscles burned…

It made him _happy._

And if let out a loud whoop when he took out all of the targets in a shooting section in seven perfect shots he deserved to and it just made him grin harder.

He…

He was going to be okay. 

He could feel it.

And then he got stuck in the rope ladder course. 

Twisting and turning only made it worse and Lance let out a defeated sigh, hanging upside down and realizing he was going to need a rescue. Embarrassing, but he wasn’t the first one to have had Coran enter the course as Lance had seen him retrieving Pidge out of a barrel she’d fallen into and was too short to hop back out and even helping Keith out of the pool — and Keith couldn’t swim? Lance filed that away as maybe… maybe he could help him, if Keith wouldn’t bite his head off for it.

So when footsteps sounded a few minutes later Lance eagerly turned his head in Coran’s direction…

Only it wasn’t Coran.

It was Shiro. 

“Hey Lance, looks like you’re…. hanging out,” Shiro grinned as he stepped towards him and just like that Lance felt the small bubble of uncertainty pop as he groaned.

“Shiro, no, that’s _awful.”_

Shiro chuckled. “Sorry, buddy. Hold tight for a tick, I’ll get you down.”

Lance did so, trying not to tense as Shiro’s hands brushed his sides, his back, and then his foot as he pulled the ropes away.

“Okay, last one,” Shiro said, his arms beneath Lance’s armpits. “Point your right foot up and—”

Shiro pulled backwards and Lance shot out of the rope like a cork, landing atop Shiro with a _clack_ of armor and an _oomph_ from Shiro.

They both tried to roll over left at the same time.

And Lance found himself on the ground on his back, staring straight up at Shiro who was braced atop him, his face inches from Lance’s own and hands right next to his head.

Just like…

Like how Mister Jamie…

_“Lie still, sweetheart.”_

Lance let out a whimper. 

Shiro’s eyes widened. 

And there was a flurry of limbs as Shiro scrambled sideways and Lance went the other way, shaking and trembling and he thought he was _better_ he’d talked about it _why was this happening?_

“Lance,” Shiro whispered his name, something… something _knowing_ in just that word.

And Lance ran.

Because Shiro couldn’t…

He couldn’t…

He couldn’t know. Lance didn’t want him to know.

He just…

He wanted…

Lance ducked from the training room into one of the training storage rooms, motion-sensor lights giving him away as he stumbled further in, going for the pile of mats to…

To _hide._

He hiccuped on a sob as he ducked behind it, sinking down and wrapping his arms about himself.

He was supposed to be _better._

Footsteps sounded.

“Lance? Are… are you in here?”

_Shiro._

Lance didn’t say anything but he knew Shiro knew where he was. 

The footsteps did not sound again.

“Lance, I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… to scare you.”

Lance shuddered out a breath.

Shiro wasn’t…

Shiro wasn’t coming over. 

He was letting Lance have space.

“And, and if you don’t want to see me right now or talk, I understand. But, but I hope you don’t mind if I say something.”

Lance remained silent.

“I don’t… I don’t know what happened. I don’t need to know, not unless you want to tell me. But I… I know what it’s like to be scared. And… and I know what it’s like to be ashamed.”

Lance’s breath caught.

“Not… not for the same reasons I think, maybe, you might know but… but I know what it’s like to feel helpless. And to feel like there’s no way out. And for people to… to belittle you and mock you and make you feel like you’re not a person.”

Lance’s eyes widened.

Shiro was talking about the arena. 

Shiro never talked about the arena.

“And I know what you went through… it’s different. It… it had to be horrible and scary and so… so _lonely._ And whatever… whatever someone did to you to make you feel like that… that’s on them, Lance. Not you. You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of. Okay?”

Lance’s eyes stung. 

Shiro…

Shiro wasn’t…

Lance slowly got to his feet, arms wrapped about his stomach.

And just as slowly he stepped out from his hiding place right into Shiro’s line of sight.

He kept his head down but he took a step and then another and another until he was barely a foot away from Shiro. 

He trembled.

And then he took one final step, putting them toe to toe and Shiro was a lot taller up close and he tentatively lifted his arms, realizing in that moment he’d never actually hugged Shiro before, but it was too late to stop now.

Shiro reciprocated it with a tight if still gentle hold, one of his hands descending to cup the back of Lance’s head, tangling in his hair.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Shiro repeated. “Nothing.”

Lance sniffled. “ _Gr-gracias—”_

“No,” Shiro interrupted him. “Don’t… don’t thank me. Just… just believe me.”

And Lance did.

A few minutes ticked by, Lance’s breathy inhales evened. 

“Do you want to go back to training?” Shiro asked gently. 

Lance shook his head. “No. I… I think…”

He knew…

“I need to talk to… to y-you. And Pidge and Keith and,” he felt his cheeks flush, “Ah-allura.”

He couldn’t keep hiding.

“All right,” Shiro said softly. “Let’s go get everyone.”

Shiro gathered everyone to the lounge, Allura meeting them there. 

Lance felt too anxious to sit as everyone settled in; Hunk and Keith on the small couch, Pidge between Shiro and Allura on the big one and Coran on the edge of a deep armchair. 

Hunk gave him a smile and Coran an encouraging nod as Lance stood in front of them, hands clasped together. 

And everyone else…

They looked…

_Concerned._

And… and there was a degree of knowing, of putting together pieces, because he was surrounded by some of the smartest people in the universe and they would of course start to see some correlation between recent events and Lance’s behavior. 

“Um…” Lance squeezed his hands. “So… um… I wanted to… to talk to you all. And… and first say that I’m… I’m sorry. For, for worrying you.”

“No apology is needed or warranted for such,” Allura said gently and Lance couldn’t meet her gaze, eyes trained on his feet, and there was a quiet murmur of agreement to Allura’s words.

Lance flushed.

He made himself continue. 

“This last mission, it… it was…” he swallowed. “It was sort of… sort of p-personal. Be… because when I was a kid I…”

He trembled.

No one else spoke.

“I w-was… was hurt,” and he winced but he couldn’t say it, not aloud to all of them, “like, like that too.”

He heard several sharp inhales, Pidge’s soft but dangerous, “ _What?”_ and he closed his eyes.

It wasn’t over yet.

“And he… I…” Lance swallowed. “It wasn’t just when… when I was little.”

When at least he really didn’t know better and couldn’t be expected to.

But when he was older…

After he’d found out…

But…

But Hunk and Coran and Shiro…

They’d told him it wasn’t his fault. That he had nothing to be ashamed of. So…

So…

“We… we had sex.” Lance’s hands trembled at his sides. “He… he _made_ me have sex with him.”

And that distinction was important.

Mister Jamie had been wrong. He had known what he was doing was wrong. It was _rape._ And he’d still made Lance do it. 

“And, and I never told anyone,” Lance whispered. “Be-because he… he was like f-family. And… and…”

He trailed off, eyes focused still on his shoes.

What…

What did they think?

“Where is he?” 

The question came from Keith, more of a growl than anything. 

Lance flicked his eyes up, surprised.

Keith looked _pissed._

Lance gave a tiny shake of his head. “He’s… he’s dead.”

Keith did not look any happier by that response and he rose abruptly to his feet.

Lance forced himself not to step backwards as he had last time.

For all they bickered, Keith…

Keith was… was a teammate.

Maybe even a friend. 

And he…

He was coming closer. 

Lance swallowed as Keith stopped a foot from him.

“He’s lucky he is.”

Lance shivered. 

Keith was…

But at the same time…

It was comforting. That, that someone would… to protect him…

“I concur with Keith,” Allura spoke. Her voice darkened. “Anyone who would take advantage of a child, to force them to engage in such acts, to use loved ones for compliance… they are beyond despicable and I would relish the opportunity to remove them limb by limb.”

“Forget limbs,” Pidge growled. “I’d hack off his fucking dick and force feed it to—”

“Okay, okay,” Shiro cut Pidge off as Lance winced at the vulgar imagery, even though it was all strangely touching, and Pidge let out a quiet ‘sorry’ that she didn’t actually sound all that sorry about and it made Lance’s lips twitch.

They fell quickly though and his eyes dropped back down.

“Hey,” Keith’s voice was softer if still a touch hot. 

Lance forced himself to look up, to meet that sharp purple gaze. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith held his eyes. “I’m sorry that… that happened to you. And you… you didn’t…” his voice was so soft Lance had a feeling only he could hear it. “You didn’t deserve that. And that man… he… he made you feel small and,” a dusting of pink coated Keith’s cheeks. “You’re not, Lance.” 

Lance’s eyes widened at not just the understanding but… but something more.

Keith gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “Not me,” he said, words a breath. “But… but in the system…”

Lance had not expected that and he wasn’t entirely sure Keith had meant to share it but… but it meant a lot. This strange feeling of solidarity with Keith of all people, whose situation was so different but… but he knew how Lance had felt.

How trapped.

And alone.

Lance was hugging Keith before he even realized he was leaning forward and Keith went rigid at the touch.

Lance had a second to realize he’d just done the exact thing he’d been shying away from, gone to pull back, to apologize, when Keith drove the air out of his lungs with the force of his return embrace.

“Okay, if this is hug time I want in,” Pidge said. A pause. “Um, can I…?”

Lance lifted one of his arms off Keith in answer and Pidge was there, sliding beneath his arm and wrapping her own about him and Keith. 

“If it is not too forward and it is all right, I too,” Allura said quietly, “would like to offer you a hug, Lance.”

Keith took a small step towards Pidge, opening up the option but leaving it up to Lance.

He opened up his other arm and he felt his cheeks flush as Allura lifted it up to wrap about her shoulders while one of her arms wrapped about his back and her other rested on Keith’s shoulder.

Lance let out a soft sigh.

This…

This felt right.

This felt _safe._

“Lance, you okay if we all hug you?” Hunk asked and Lance gave a jerk of his head.

Yes.

Yes, please.

He felt everyone pile in then, Hunk next to Allura at his back and Shiro directly behind him and Coran getting a hand in on Lance’s right shoulder and squeezing it tight while his other arm wrapped about Pidge. 

Not a single touch made him flinch.

Not a single whisper of memory brushed his ear.

Just love.

And understanding.

And acceptance. 

And in the arms of his friends…

Lance felt truly and utterly safe. 

**Author's Note:**

> Commission fic (15k) for Kou. As you just experienced, this was a very, very hard fic to read. Believe me when I say it was even harder to write. But being able to help others, even if only a little, process trauma and start to heal themselves always gives me the push to keep going and I hope, if you’re reading this you’re doing okay and you’re in safe place ♥
> 
> If you or someone you love ever experiences something like this or any other situation that makes you feel uncomfortable or scared or tells you to keep a promise or a secret that doesn’t feel right, please, reach out to someone, be that a friend (real life or online), a trusted family member, a teacher or coach, a youth leader or pastor, a counselor, the police or a crisis hotline... You are not to blame, you are not at fault and you have done nothing wrong. You are a victim. Someone else has hurt you, abused you, betrayed you, manipulated you, threatened you, coerced you. They did not listen to you, respect you and no matter what they might say, they do not love you (not in what love should be), they do not care about you and this is not for your own good nor anybody’ else's (except their own). Talking about this can be hard, can seem even impossible, but I hope that this story might help you, encourage you, to take even that first small step ♥
> 
> Given the nature of this fic I am very, very, very drained from writing it. Hearing from you would truly mean a lot and help me recover as getting into that headspace… it was very dark and lonely and scary and even for me a bit too much at times and comments are little bursts of light and I could really, really _really_ use some of that. Given the content I do especially ask that you to be courteous in your comments. Thank you.
> 
> **(Like my works? Want to read even more? Visit my[Tumblr, icypantherwrites](https://icypantherwrites.tumblr.com) for details.)**


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